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THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
AND OTHER POEMS -V <• -V 



Z his first cditiou, on small paper, consists 
of five hundred copies, four hundred 
and fifty of which are for sale. 



The Title-page and Cover are designed 
by Mr. Pierre la Rose. 



THE QVEST OF 
HERACLES AND 
OTHER POEMS 

BY 

HVGH MCCVLLOCH 

IVNIOR 



STONE AND KIMBALL 

CAMBRIDGE • CHICAGO 

MDCCCXCIV 







-^ Copyright, 1893, by -:• 
Hugh McCulloch, Jr. 




TO MY MOTHER I DEDICATE ALL 

IN THIS BOOK THAT IS LEAST 

UNWORTHY OF HER 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE QUEST OF HERACLES 13 

HERMAPHRODITUS 32 

ISIS 40 

MIDNIGHT 41 

A BALLADE OF ROSES 44 

BALLADE OF MOLIERE ...... 46 

ANTINOUS 48 

A BALLADE OF DAWN 55 

9 



PAGE 

REFUGE 57 



STRIFE 58 

SHADOW'S HOUSE 59 

SPRING-SONG 60 

SCENT O' PINES 61 

PHAETON 62 

MOON-RISE 73 

PR.ETERITA 74 

A BALLADE OF RIDING 75 

REQUIEM 77 

10 



PAGE 

FIVE SONNETS 79 



NURSE'S SONG 84 

COMPLETION 85 

RETIREMENT 86 

SONG 87 

CONFESSIONS 88 

HER PICTURE 89 

SAINT LOUIS 90 



II 



THE QUEST OF HERACLES 

^{^^^HE eleventh labour unto Heracles 

Eurystheus bade ; the golden fruit to bring 
From out the grove of the Hesperides. 

When he departed it was early Spring ; 
The sea and earth and heaven were serene, 
And joyousness clothed every living thing 

As with a garment. Yet the breeze was keen — 
A little, fearing, as it seemed, lest heat 
Should still men's ardour, parch the foliage green 

Ere Summer's fulness made their lives complete. 
A kind of expectation filled the air; 
Uncertainty, that made the world-heart beat 

With longing as for some possession rare. 
A part of all the world was in his heart 
When he began his journeying, a share 

Of nature's confidence serene, a part 
Of her great longing to achieve the deed 
His soul was bent on, by his strength and art. 
13 



THE QUEST OF HERACLES 

For he was confident he should succeed, 
Albeit he could not tell the how, or why ; 
As men are sure that from the planted seed 

The grain will grow, yet cannot justify 

Their faith with explanation. For he knew 
Not even where the enchanted grove might lie — 

Except that from the westward breezes blew 
That bore to men the garden-scent and spice 
Which filled their hearts with aspirations new, 

Recalling memories of paradise 

And of the golden age. So toward the west 
He journeyed out of Thebes, his laughing eyes 

Set ever on this new labourious quest 

Which promised dangers to be dared, and fame 
Enough to still the longing of his breast. 

He journeyed onward swiftly till he came 
Unto the sea, beyond whose utmost shore. 
Somewhere afar, and toward the sunset flame, 

The garden lay, and there the tree which bore 
The golden fruit of the Hesperides. 
Upon the sand a hundred boats or more 

Were beached, and from among them Heracles 
Chose him the one that fittest seemed to bear 
His mighty strength across the billowing seas; 
14 



THE QUEST OF HERACLES 

A tiny boat, most men would scarcely dare 
To journey far in, almost like a toy, 
But strongly built, well jointed everywhere. 

While he began with eagerness of joy 

To make her ready, storing meat and wine 
Within her, he beheld a half-grown boy 

Toward him running, making many a sign 

For him to wait. And when the boy drew near 
He prayed by all the immortal ones divine 

That he might go ; for he was used to steer, 
He said, and skilled to row and set the sail, 
Inured to hardship, destitute of fear. 

And longed to link his name to some brave tale 
As friend to heroes. Then the Hero bent 
His gaze upon the lad, nor saw him quail 

Beneath the scrutiny, and was content 

To have him come, he looked so fair and brave. 
So westward then the boy and Hero went. 

By daylight tossed they westward o'er the wave. 
At night upon some shore they beached their boat, 
When shore appeared and welcoming shelter gave. 

Or else, compelled beneath the stars to float, 
They talked the night away, of valourous deed 
Discoursing, or retold some tale of note. 
15 



THE QUEST OF HERACLES 

And oft the boy by cunning trails would lead 

The Hero to recount the labours done 

Aforetime ; tell his shifts in time of need, 
His fights appearing lost, but finally won 

By constancy and persevering might. 

And often Heracles, as to a son. 
Would teach the boy to guard him in the fight. 

To save his force until the foe should tire. 

In dubious hours demean himself aright, 
And so at last to come to his desire. 

For many days they journeyed o'er the sea 

Southwestward; while the noonday sun grew higher. 
Then came they to the land of mystery, 

To Africa, and journeyed from the shore. 

Enquiring where the enchanted grove might be 
Of all they met, and learning little more 

Than they had known when they began their way. 

For each one answered : "Somewhere midst the roar 
Of waves implacable, our legends say. 

Divided from us by untraversed seas. 

Lie blessed Islands, countless leagues away, 
And there the grove of the Hesperides. 

But where these Islands are we do not know," 

One day a sage replied to Heracles : 
i6 



THE QUEST OF HERACLES 

" Myself, I cannot tell the way; but go 
To Atlas, a week's journey from the sea ; 
To Altas, sky sustaining, where the glow 

Of midday sun is hottest. It may be 

That he can tell thee where these Islands are ; 
None else in all the world is wise as he." 

So Heracles began to journey far 

Within the Southland, where the untrodden ways 
For weaker men all journeying would bar. 

Since desert lands extended there for days, 

And jungles, where the ground was always wet. 
And slimy as with serpents. Where the gaze 

Met nothing but dense, thorny barriers set 
Against advance. The Hero overcame 
Such obstacles, and journeying on, he met 

Mysterious people, tribes without a name, 
Unthinking, hardly knowing they were men, 
And ignorant of evil and of shame. 

Withal a peace-eyed folk, and courteous when 
They met the Hero in their forest glade 
And shared with him their stores; or in some glen 

Besought his company until he stayed 
And rested him amidst their simple care. 
Delighted with their truth, and unafraid 
- 17 



THE QUEST OF HERACLES 

Of treachery. With such he loved to share 

His strength and knowledge, teaching many a thing, 
And helping them their heaviest loads to bear. 

And when he journeyed onward, all would bring 
Their simple gifts, and, loath to have him leave, 
Beseeching him, about his limbs would cling ; 

And failing thus to gain the least reprieve. 

Would journey with him, honouring his might. 
Until the Hero, eager to retrieve 

Delay, had hastened onward from their sight. 
At last he came where Atlas held the sky 
Upon his shoulders; where, by day and night. 

The burden bore, and had no hope to die. 
Him Heracles accosted, asking where 
The garden of the blessed fruit might lie. 

Then Atlas answered with a cunning air 
Which Heracles perceived not (Atlas saw 
The Hero's strength, and knew what he would dare) : 

" Forever am I bound by deathless law 
To bear the heavens; and I cannot think 
To answer thee, so much the burdens draw 

Upon my strength. But if thou dost not shrink 
From bearing up my burden for a space, 
Perchance I can direct thee to the brink 
l8 



THE QUEST OF HERACLES 

Wherefrom thine eyes can see the wished-for place." 
Then Heracles made haste to answer him 
Lest he should falter in the proffered grace : 

" Yea, I can easily support the grim 

Immortal burden, who with Jason went. 

Who countless leagues of struggling sea could swim 

Unconquered, when my soul on conquest bent 
Would slay the beast whose tawny fell I wear. 
Give nie the burden. Earth and heaven blent 

Affright not me, since I am strong to bear 
The mightiest spirit ever known to men." 
And Atlas laughed to shift his burden there. 

Which laugh the Hero did not notice then. 
Engrossed with bearing up the bending sky. 
And Atlas, wild at being free again. 

Stretched out his limbs, stretched up his hands on high. 
Laughed, as though wakened from a painful dream 
And found it false, nor longer cared to die. 

Then Heracles addressed him : " Since you seem 
Recovered from your weariness, I pray 
That I may learn beside what distant stream 

The garden lies, and how to find the way 
To lead me to the far Hesperides." 
Then Atlas, laughing soft, as at the play 

19 



THE QUEST OF HERACLES 

Of his own fancy, answered: " Heracles, 
The way is far, but easy ; straightway west 
You journey, sheer unto the western seas ; 

And westward straight upon the ocean's breast 
A ten days' journey from the eastern shore, 
Unto the purple Islands of the Blest. 

But thou art tired, and cannot journey more ; 
Thou hast, beside, the heavens to upbear 
Whereof thou hast relieved me. I therefore 

Will journey in thy place. If thou shalt hear 
No tidings of me, thou wilt know that I 
Have found the Islands, and for many a year 

Shall liv-e in bliss, while thou dost hold the sky 
Instead of me." But Heracles, the while, 
Was silent, for he would not stoop to cry 

On treachery or wrong however vile 
When he was powerless to do the right. 
And his great heart was ignorant of guile. 

Meanwhile the boy, who loved the Hero's might, 
And yearned to aid him, whispered in his ear 
A stratagem which though it seemed so slight 

Might cost the treachery of Atlas dear. 
For Atlas, in his freedom seeming mad, 
Unreasoning in his pleasure, lingered near; 
20 



THE QUEST OF HERACLES 

Such joy to see his shifted toil he had. 
Then Heracles in sobered accents spoke : 
'"T is well, great Atlas ! You may well be glad^ 

Since you have caught me napping, and this yoke 
I needs must bear, and needs must bear it long. 
You surely are the wisest of all folk. 

But though beyond all mortals I am strong, 
I have my burden in such awkward wise 
I scarce may hold it. Lest they suffer wrong, 

I pray you, but a moment hold the skies. 
That I may take them rightly as you do. 
Who well my strength and wisdom may despise." 

The Giant in his heart thought : " It is true; 
He holds it wrongly ; he is free from guile; 
He 's strong and foolish ; all his wisdom grew 

To bone and brawn. 'T is but a little while. ..." 
And then aloud: " 'T is granted, Heracles." 
Then straight released him from the heavy pile 

As he continued : " Burdens such as these 

Must thus be borne. ..." But even as he said, 
Westward, toward the far Hesperides 

The Hero and the faithful lad had sped, 
Not venturing to linger in that land 
Lest Atlas new and subtler snares should spread 

2* 21 



THE QUEST OF HERACLES 

Beyond their simple brains to understand. 
For many weary days they wandered through 
Enormous soHtudes of desert sand. 



At length they caught a distant glimpse of blue 
Toward the west, and crying out : " The sea ! 
The sea!" they hastened joyously thereto. 

Beside the shore they found a sturdy tree 

Whose bark would do to make a rough-hewn boat 
Which must suffice, though savage it might be. 

And soon upon the crested waves afloat. 

They journeyed toward the ramparts of the Sun 
Whence Gods upon their subject empire gloat, 

Where Sol returns when every day is done. 
Ten days they journeyed o'er the golden way, 
And almost feared the prize would ne'er be won, 

So far from earthly goals they seemed away. 
But on the eleventh, close upon the dawn, 
When westward shot the Sun's awakening ray, 

A purple cloud upon the watery' lawn 

They saw. More smoothly o'er the silent sea 
Grown calm now, breathlessly they hurried on, 

22 



THE QUEST OF HERACLES 

The land more lovely seeming each degree 

They neared it. Then they heard a mingled song 

Of leaves from many an odour-bearing tree, 
The sound of rivers murmuring along, 

Of birds that caroled forth eternal bliss : 

The hymn of Nature, free from human wrong. 
And over all, the Gods' eternal kiss, 

There dwelt a savour of supreme content. 

Lulled by the blended sweetness of all this 
They beached the skiff, and through the forest went 

Toward a golden gate that gleamed like fire. 

With sound of many a murmuring instrument, 
Of lute and dulcimer, and harp and lyre, 

The gate swept inward, opening left and right. 

Then, passing through this portal of desire, 
They entered in the garden of delight. 



At evening, when the feverish day is done. 
And silence heralds the repose of night. 
The stars come twinkling on us one by one ; 
And we gaze upward, ever open-eyed. 
Upon their mystery, stretching sun on sun, 
23 



THE QUEST OF HERACLES 

To where eternal verities abide. 

But when from out the palpitating East 

The imperial moon in majesty doth ride, 
We turn us from the fading stars, to feast 

Our eyes upon the glory of her state. 

Our worship of the infinite increased. 
So Heracles, when he had passed the gate 

With his companion, quite forgot the sound 

Which lately made his weary heart wax great, 
And led him into this enchanted ground. 

He found him in the entrance to a glen 

Whose flowers, and trees, and perfumed rivers drowned 
The memories which had haunted him till then : 

The thoughts of mortal infamy and pain. 

The murmuring multitudes of weary men. 
The agony of sinew and of brain. 

Amidst the garden's melody and spice, 

Afar, across the joy enmantlcd plain. 
Flamed Argos with his hundred glowing eyes, 

The guardian of the treasure-bearing tree. 

Forever fiercer grew his glowing dyes, 
And ever more in dreams of luxur)' 

The Hero's fancy plunged. Upon the green 

Lay maidens, glancing carelessly to see 
24 



THE QUEST OF HERACLES 

Who trod the happy garden which had been 

Long time unvisited byUving men. 

But when the glorious Hero they had seen, 
Quickly they raised them from the grass, and then 

Ran toward him, plucking flowers as they ran, 

To wreath his forehead. Then they turned again, 
And bade him follow where the Pipes of Pan 

Were making all the perfumed garden glad. 

Almost the Hero yielded, and began 
To follow one whose limbs in saffron clad 

Were outlined by the fluttering of the breeze. 

The boy, meanwhile, but scanty notion had 
Of what temptations lay in sights like these 

To idleness. He passed the maidens by, 

And gazing on, beneath the spreading trees 
He saw a group of naked athletes vie 

In deeds of strength and skill. He longed to be 

Where he might find some novel feat to try. 
So, turning toward the weakening Hero, he 

Besought him to continue on the way. 

And pointed out the contest. Suddenly, 
Brought to himself, the Hero cast away 

All thoughts of idleness, and hastened where 

He saw two wrestling athletes grip and sway. 
25 



THE QUEST OF HERACLES 

No longer wore he the enamoured air 

He late had worn ; his eyes again flamed bright, 
He burned to be among the wrestlers there, — 

To feel again the joy of his own might 

Which came from feeling others bend and fall 
Beneath his prowess. His companion's sight, 

In boyish restlessness, had witnessed all 
It cared to of the struggle on the grass. 
He felt new things upon his interest call. 

He let his vision by the wrestlers pass 

To where, among the trees, he saw a dance, 
Hardby the place where eager Argos was. 

Forthwith his heart impelled him to advance. 
But now he heard the Hero breathing hard 
With lust for combat, — saw his eager glance 

Toward the wrestlers writhing on the sward. 
He felt that once among them, Heracles 
No more the nearing contest would regard 

With Argos, but would waste his strength with these 
In barren triumphs to the end of time ; 
For death is barred from the Hesperides, 

And life exults, forever in its prime. 
He laid his hand upon the Hero's arm, 
And, " Thou the subject of heroic rhyme," 
26 



THE QUEST OF HERACLES 

He said, "can'stthou be turned bypassing charm 

When Argos, the great enemy, is near? 

See, even now he glows in his alarm. 
If now thou turnest, he will think it fear." 

The eyes of Argos ever brighter grew 

To see the Hero pause in his career. 
Then Heracles with sullen bosom drew 

His gaze from off the wrestlers, and he turned 

Where Argos, menacing with flaming hues 
In hundred eyes, forever fiercer burned. 

And to the lad he muttered : "It was thou 

That brought me from the pleasure I had earned 
By my exertions, to this place, and now 

Dost urge me on again. But thou art right : 

Before I rest, I must achieve my vow ; 
Pleasure is fourfold welcome after fight." 

Then on he hastened toward the approaching quest. 

And now was Argos plainly in their sight. 
But what he was, in what apparel dressed. 

They could not see. Amid the sacred tree 

He burned as any sunset in the west. 
Like such a sunset where the eye can see 

No form specific, but a golden glow 

More overwhelming for its mystery. 
27 



THE QUEST OF HERACLES 

The Hero half despaired of such a foe, 

Which seemed unbodied, having never a Hmb 
To grasp ; but eyes that darted to and fro, 

Comminghng and retiring, to the brim 
With fury filled, as though with liquid fire. 
And so he stood, and firmly gazed at him. 

So filled was he with his supreme desire, 
He had not noted that about the tree 
A band of youths and maids in perfect quire 

Were dancing to their own soft minstrelsy. 
But now their choral drew his thoughts away, 
And made him half forget the fight to be. 

" What profits it, O creature of a day. 
To toil forever, to deny delight 
Until thy body turneth into clay ? 

When on the borders of eternal night 

Thou standest trembling, thou wilt weep for all 
The pleasure that thy pride hath made thee slight ; 

Tho' thou art Heracles thou art so small 
When thou art weighed against eternity. 
It doth not matter where thy moments fall. 

How idle mortals in their vanity 

To think the universal Whole can care 
For what or how their petty actions be. 

28 



THE QUEST OF HERACLES 

What seemeth virtue may but be a snare 
To lure a man to waste his precious bliss 
In chasing phantoms gibbering and bare. 

Reflect how empty any triumph is, 

How disappointing, and the toil how long, 
And bend thyself to pleasure with a kiss ! " 

But Heracles, when he had heard the song, 

Laughed with a laugh that lightened face and eyes, 
So frank it was, and answering the throng: 

"When on the earth my dying body lies, 

My mind shall dwell upon my triumphs won; 
I fear not toil, nor care I for the prize. 

I shall review my actions one by one. 

And finding I have borne me like a man, 
Await what cometh when our life is done, 

Unflinching. Now, with all the strength I can, 
I '11 fight with Argos ; let my arms but seize 
His body, and he cannot form a plan 

To escape me. Ware ! make way for Heracles ! " 
Fled all the youths and maidens. Toward the foe 
The Hero strode. It seemed that all the trees 

Were made of furious eyes. He faced their glow 
Undaunted, and unto the fruit of gold 
Went firmly, trusting in his strength. And,, lo ! 
29 



THE QUEST OF HERACLES 

As he approached the sacred tree and old, 
The eyes that menaced him with raging heat 
Grew fainter in their colouring, grew cold ; 

And fading into some unseen retreat 

They were not. As if Argos had not been, 
But seemed to be to frighten from the feat 

The dauntless Hero, who could yield to sin, 
To lust, and combat, but who mocked despair, 
And every cowardice contained therein. 

Bewildered, for a moment stood he there. 
Then laughed to think of Argos fled away. 
So silent and so strange, he knew not where ; 

Then shook the tree until the apples lay 

A-glimmering in the flower-besprinkled grass. 
And gathering them he said: "No time for play ! 

Upon our homeward journey must we pass 
To find us fresh adventures to pursue." 
The boy, now weary, answered him : "Alas ! 

Thou hast the prize ; what further wouldst thou do ? 
What thou hast toiled for wilt thou give to one 
That hath done nothing? If old tales are true, 

This fruit is precious. Glowing like the sun 
It makes the owner mighty ; keep it then." 
But Heracles: "When once a deed is done, 
^o 



THE QUEST OF HERACLES 

However great among the sons of men, 
I care not for it. I had rather bring 
The fruit of victory from this perfumed glen 

Unto the palace of the laggard king 

Than keep it here amidst the fragrant mead. 
My heart exultant evermore must spring, 

Forever reaching toward a mightier deed." 



"M 



HERMAPHRODITUS 

^^HEN all the world had felt the breath of Spring 
And thrilled at his caress ; when every thing 
LJ/ 'v*/ In all the world renewed its leaves and flowers 
To gladden man ; when all the days and hours 
Brought ever fairer gifts unto their lord, — 
Hermaphroditus raised him from the sward 
Where he was lying, blissful but to be, 
And journeyed slowly inland from the sea 
Whereon he long had pondered. As he went 
His heart was filled with a supreme content 
To see the might and beauty of the earth; 
To see the rivers dimpling in their mirth. 
And over all the fields and flowers and trees 
The great sun shine. Yet thought he not of these, 
But rather felt them in a subtle-wise 
That had no need of seeing, and his eyes 
Were raised unto the vast expanse of skies 
That seemed inwoven of sun and mystery. 
32 



HERMAPHRODITUS 

Now in his slow, sweet journeying came he 
Where greenest meadows sloping met a stream 
Whereon the sun did dance and play and gleam 
Like beaten gold : and coming there, he bent 
To spy sate crossing. There some rocks had pent 
A portion of the stream into a well, 
A pool of light for shapes of sleep to dwell 
In quietness. And when he glanced therein 
He saw himself reflected. Sure no sin 
For any maid to dream and long for him ! 
His father, Hermes, had endowed each limb 
With his perfection, and his sunburned face 
Flashed back the lustre of his mother's grace. 
Yet he had never dreamed that he was fair, 
But only knew him happy. Crossing where 
The stream was shallow, pausing to admire 
The rocks and darting fish, with no desire 
To gaze on his own beauty, on he went. 
The blossoms, that had all their beauty spent 
To welcome him, from him caught grace anew ; 
The grass was bright with diamonded dew ; 
And over all a mighty stillness hung — 
The awe, that quieted a world still young, 
Fearing to break the slumber of the gods. 

3 iz 



HERMAPHRODITUS 

And through this stillness, o'er the glowing sods, 
Embalmed in beauty, strayed the Cyprian's son, 
A part of nature. Now the day had run 
The half-way of his course, and held his steeds 
A moment on the zenith poised (he needs, 
Yea, even he, a little space to rest), 
And every flower, its head upon its breast, 
Was slumbering, excepting the sun's flower. 
The heliotrope, for whom the choicest hour 
Had come wherein the sweetest scent was made. 
Hermaphroditus, longing for the shade 
Of trees, again descended toward a stream 
That crossed his path, and where, with many a dream. 
Dwelt peaceful hours forever. Then he turned, 
Allured by some suggestion he discerned 
In subtle-wise, to trace the stream that spurned 
So pettishly the rocks and roots of trees 
That strove to stay it : now the hum of bees 
And sounds of woodland creatures met his ears : 
Mysterious rustlings, timorous faint fears 
Of forest things; yet followed he the stream 
Unheeding, like one walking in a dream, 
A waking revery. And soon his guide 
Grew smaller and more threadlike, still to glide 
34 



HERMAPHRODITUS 

Half-mocking over last year's fallen leaves. 
On either side rose wooded hills where sheaves 
Of bushes hid all view of field or road, 
Or aught that lay beyond. The valley showed 
No sight but arching trees brown-gray and green. 
Except the brook, no other thing was seen 
Of all the world. The stream turned at this place ; 
Hermaphroditus saw that for a space 
The hills receded, and thus made a glade 
Whose light was half of sunlight, half of shade 
Commingled. And from out the soft green grass 
Whereon fleet shadows of the trees would pass 
Grew heaps and heaps of roses. All the air 
Was sweet with them ; a million blossomed there, 
And all unknown, in seeming, unto men. 
Hermaphroditus startled, wondering, when 
He came upon this roseland, half forgot 
The stream that brought him hither to the spot ; 
Then suddenly remembering, he sought 
His guide with downward eyes, and when he caught 
A glimpse of it, and followed with his eyes 
An hundred steps or so, to his surprise 
Beheld it issue from a widening pool 
As still as evening air. It lay there cool 
35 



HERMAPHRODITUS 

And quiet, clear and deep, a miracle. 
A willow grew beside the woodland well ; 
And there was carved through bark and skin of this 
The nymph's name of the fountain, Salmacis. 
Naught knew Hermaphroditus of this name, 
But saw the fountain cool to quench the flame 
The sun had made in his blood. He threw aside 
His saffron tunic with its border wide, 
And plunged into the depths of that still pool. 
Ah, it was sweet to feel the water cool 
His sunwarmed veins ; to feel it lave his head 
And chest and limbs ; and in his heart he said, 
*' If Salmacis be god or maid or man. 
My thanks are due ..." Exultant he began 
To swim with long, slow strokes around, and cleft 
The clinging water joyously. Now left 
He every thought, save of the present bhss 
Till suddenly he felt a burning kiss, 
Felt rounded arms about his neck entwine. 
And in his ear a murmur heard, divine. 
That whispered : " Oh, my own, you tarried long, 
Until I sent my stream to woo with song 
And mystery ; now you are come ; — the bliss 
To gaze and love — even I am Salmacis ! " 
36 



HERMAPHRODITUS 

Hermaphroditus felt the joy depart 
From all his soul ; and in its stead, his heart 
Grew heavy ; all his joyous, eager bliss 
Seemed tainted by the memory of the kiss 
His lips returned not. Hastily he flung 
The nymph away, whose arms about him clung, 
And gained the bank. He threw his tunic on 
And turned to go; yet might he not be gone 
From that sweet place — he felt the roses call 
Him to return ; the trees, the hilly wall 
All spoke to him, the very skies above. 
Ah, foolish boy ! He heard the wings of love. 
Still he remained ; the lady all the while 
Gazed at him with a piteous wavering smile 
Half tearful: on the grass he lay; and he, 
Though reared up in Love's house, the mystery 
Of love knew nothing. Silent sat he there 
Unheeding Salmacis' unspoken prayer. 
Then she began aloud : " Oh, Zeus, whose throne 
Forever liveth, give me for mine own 
This boy whom thou hast fashioned for me ! " 
And Zeus in majesty was sad to see 
The water-nymph's despair and misery. 
Then spoke the boy : " Great Zeus, grant not her prayer. 
37 



3* 



HERMAPHRODITUS 

What have I done that I should tarry there 
With her I love not ? Pitiless is she ! " 
Then Salmacis: " Let him be part of me, — 
Nay, be myself, — since then his scorn must die." 
And Zeus, the omnipotent, Zeus, the most high, 
All knowing, saw within the boy's young heart 
Love growing, though his will there had no part; 
And to the nymph he gave her heart's desire. 
For straight Hermaphroditus felt a fire 
Arise v^ithin him, first a timorous flame 
That ever greater and more fierce became. 
And then he crept unto the nymph who lay 
With ashen face, as pale as unborn day, 
And kissed her softly. With the first caress 
She rose in all her perfect loveliness 
To render back his kisses unto him. 
When lo ! a marvel ! every lovely limb 
Melted like gold and was a part of his, 
And only one remained — and Salmacis 
Was given her prayer, and each was made a part 
Of each, one soul, one body, and one heart — 
One being. 

So through all the years that sped 
Each had his love, nor yet was satiated 
38 



HERMAPHRODITUS 

Possessing : never felt the heart sink, tired 
To death of one that lately was desired 
Beyond all gifts of life. And so men said 
When some one asked which one of all the dead 
Gave love most ample in its perfect bliss : 
*' Hermaphroditus unto Salmacis." 



39 




ISIS 

50 fear is in those eyes, no love, no hate, 
Nor aught of mortal, nor have men a name 
For her emotions wherein pride and shame 
Are known as slightly as men know their fate. 
In awful calm the end she doth await. 
Ten thousand years ago all mortals came 
Unto her image with supreme acclaim. 
She doth not care that worshippers abate. 

Now men affirm of her that she is not : 
Yet, when no word of man can be forgot 
But ever liveth, thrilling through the airs: 
When not a deed of man but bears its fruit. 
Can speaking lips be barren as tho' mute ? 
Might not a goddess spring from many prayers ? 



40 




MIDNIGHT 

S|AS it a dream ? The mid-moon's light 
Flung sheer athwart the misty night, 
Opened long reaches to my sight, 
Faint with the quivering delight 

Of moon-lit mist. 
And but for this, that here and there 
The moon made clear the tremulous air, 
The mist hung silent everywhere, 
And ugly things were changed to fair. 
Enrobed, and kissed. 

And as I passed, I saw the place 
Was filled with tombs (then, for a space, 
The moon had torn the mist's frail lace). 
Me seemed some prehistoric race 

Had reared these stones 
In days when Ocean's river ran 
Around the earth ; for now no man 
41 



MIDNIGHT 

With all his new-found servants can 
Uprear such slabs by spell or ban 
To hold his bones. 



But even these could not defy 
Time's mightier hand, for some did lie 
All shattered, and some, still on high, 
Half tottered as I wandered by, 

Yet stood upright. 
And then I saw a mightier tomb 
Half ruined ; an abyss of gloom 
Yawned in the midst, and in the room 
Of stones I saw a shadow loom — 

A shade of light. 



I saw more clearly as I neared 
The riven ruin; the mist veered 
A little, and the moon shone weird 
Upon a skeleton that leered 

From out the gloom; — 
Then wrote upon the prostrate door 
That lay upon the ground before 



MIDNIGHT 



My feet, the moonlight glancing o'er, 
While steadfastly mine eyes did pore : 
" Nousfht — but the tomb ! " 



I turned, and slowly walked away 

Into a garden fair, that lay 

Hard by, with birds and flowers gay. 

Sweet with the sounds and scents of May, 

Where joy was rife : 
I sat me down and bound my head 
With garlands fitted for the dead, 
And to my love of loves I said : 
" We may forget, when life has sped. 

This dream of life." 



43 




A BALLADE OF ROSES 

" I hid my heart in a nest of roses." 

SWINBL'RNE. 

HID my heart in a nest of roses 
Far from the glare of the midsummer skies, — 
There where the humble-bee drowsily dozes, 
There where the perfumed breezes rise. 
And I said : "As long as the humming-bird flies 

Ceaselessly over thee, O my heart. 
From all the lures that the love-god tries, 
Forever and ever secure thou art." 

And safe it lay as a leaf that reposes 

On the river's breast when the twilight dies ; 
And still it was as a flower that grows is 

As a lily that cool in the water lies. 
And never a foe came there to surprise 

The fortress wherein I hid my heart ; 
And I said : "Of mortals I am most wise : 

Forever and ever secure thou art." 
44 



A BALLADE OF ROSES 

But the queen of the flowers in the garden-closes, 

The maiden with mystical, wonderful eyes. 
Whom a wall of scornfulness aye encloses^ 

Safe from all lover's prayers and sighs — 
She for whom never a love may suffice 

Out of its fortress drew my heart; 
And yet I say on, in braggart-wise, 

*' Forever and ever secure thou art." 



45 




BALLADE OF MOLIERE 

^HEN life in France meant court and king, 
When marquises judged art and play, 
When every poet strove to sing 
The praise of Louis, great and gay ; 
When wars and pensions swept away 

The peasants' living, grain and sheep, 
The poet told them (sad as they) : 
" To laugh is better than to weep. 

" When grief and care your bosoms wring, 

Laugh as you wander on your way ; 
For weeping cannot ease the sting 

That grief in troubled hearts may lay ; 
Though pleasure comes not all the day. 

Though all your joy be buried deep, 
Though trouble through your houses stray, — 

To laugh is better than to weep." 
46 



BALLADE OF MOLIERE 

Whatever evil life might bring, 

He mocked at it, and so grew gray 
With laughter, never sorrowing 

For wrongs his hands were weak to stay, 
So, when Armande was led astray. 

When all his joy was buried deep, 
When he was sick to death, he 'd say : 

"To laugh is better than to weep." 

Envoi 
Poet, we grieve too, but betray 

Our grief with tears ; we cannot keep 
The rule thy strength could still obey : 

To laugh is better than to weep. 



47 



ANTINOUS 

.Tc3/\GT CLOUDLESS sky above a treeless plain 
rJVJ^^C Of sand and sandhills, where one longs in vain 
^S^^'^^2 For shade which neither cloud nor tree affords 
Though hosts may die — where thirst and death are lords 
Of all the long, lone land and breathless air 
Which stifles every breeze with its despair. 
A traveller entering hardly may return 
From out this land, where thirst and famine burn 
Death's incense ; whereon gazing, he must feel 
A doubt through all his veins and sinews steal 
That gods are good, since they have made this land 
Hate-worthy, with its death-ensnaring sand 
Forever seeking for some further prey. 

And so Antinoiis, all the livelong day, 
Thrice seven days that seemed like seven years, 
With night and day contending, sharp as spears, 
'Gainst bitter grief, he lay and gazed athwart 
The desert, feeling hatred in his heart 
48 



ANTINOUS 

Toward all the gods. The terrace where he lay 
Was faint with heat and garish with the day ; 
He knew it not, but buried his head deep 
Within the cushions that would have him sleep 
For joy to hold him, and moaned '' Hadrian ! " 
And all the long courts murmured " Hadrian I " 

For Hadrian, the lord, was sick to death ; 
The days dragged on, and men could scarce see breath 
Upon the mirror held above his mouth. 
His pulse scarce stirred; the languor of the south 
Enwrapped his limbs ; and messengers had sped 
To Beza, to the god, where truth was wed 
To prophecy most surely, there to learn 
If he must die, or if he might return 
To life through any leechcraft known to men. 
'T was time the seekers should return again 
With answer, so men waited. Now of all 
His followers of war, or chase, or hall. 
The great lord loved Antinoiis the most. 
There was no warrior chief in all his host, 
No maid of all the fragrant singing bands 
That tended him, the choice of many lands, 
He loved so much. Antinoiis returned 
His love so greatly that he scarcely yearned 
49 



ANTINOUS 

For love of women. So he sadly lay 
Upon the terrace, gazing on the way 
Whereby the messengers should come. And now 
He saw a speck upon the desert's brow, 
A tiny speck against the setting sun 
In silhouette. And shortly, one by one, 
A train of camels, carrying each a man 
Grew from the cloud, and ere the night began 
Drew near unto the palace. Each man knew 
The answer, seeing them. Antinoiis, too, 
Saw by their looks that he to whom he gave 
His love, might live. And to the foremost slave 
That entered, he gave thanks for the good cheer 
He brought. The weary messenger drew near 
In solemn-wise, and said with tearful voice: 
■" 'T is well for us, Antinoiis, to rejoice — 
The emperor may live : and yet 1 fear 
He '11 grieve therefor, since thus-wise in my ear 
The great god spoke, ' The emperor may live 
In health and peace, if only he will give 
The life of whom he loveth most : if not 
His bones must lie within the hopeless spot 
Where now he lieth, 'T is the only way 
His eyes may rest upon each new-born day 
50 



ANTINOUS 

With gladness in the joy thereof.' " And then 
The slave traversed the courtyards thronged with men, 
Unto his resting-place. Antinoiis left 
Alone, gave thanks like one not all bereft 
Of gladness, yet not happy quite. He knew 
The import of the oracle ; him too 
The god had mentioned in his guarded-wise 
Unnaming, since of all beneath the skies 
The emperor held him dearest. And for this 
He had been born on earth ; had known the bliss 
Of love surpassing woman's love ; had known 
The joy of straining arms about him thrown, 
The free companionship of Hadrian, — 
That he might give his life for Hadrian. 
He wrestled fiercely in his anguished heart 
Against his love ; he wept, that he must part 
From life and all its joy, to wander where 
He never more could breathe Bithynian air, 
Nor see Hyrcanian lions battle fierce 
'Gainst Dacian slaves ; no more see spear-heads pierce 
Broad breasts of men ; nor see the choking fight, 
The wounds and blood and death and sickening fright 
He loathed and fiercely loved. He fought in vain; 
His love grew greater, showed his way more plain, 
51 



ANTINOUS 

Burned stronger from the conflict; and again 
He hid his head and murmured, " Hadrian ! " 
And all the long courts echoed, " Hadrian ! " 

Then summoned he a slave, and bade him bring 

His stylus and his tablets — everything — 

For writing; and like one enwrapt in spell, 

He wrote : " Oh, Hadrian, my friend, farewell ! 

A life love-worthy unto thee alone 

I offer up that thou mayst keep thine own 

Of all men needed. Pray thee, think of me 

When I am gone beyond the bitter sea 

Men mention with hushed breath. Again, farewell ! " 

His heart leapt up, although it heard its knell 

Pealed softly forth. He faltered not, but gave 

The letter to the still-attending slave. 

Bidding him lay it by the emperor's bed 

Against his waking. Then he softly sped 

Toward the stables, bade bring out a horse, 

Then mounted, and in swift unthinking course 

Rode far athwart the still, the moonlit night. 

The desert reached the palace on the right, 
Upon the left, a strip of fertile ground 
Stretched sheer unto the river bank to bound 
52 



ANTINOUS 

The waste of water and the waste of sand. 
Between two deserts lay this garden land. 
Through this AntinoUs galloped till he came 
Unto the Nile that gleamed like palest flame, 
So pallid, underneath the long moonlight, — 
A molten silver stream athwart the night. 
So broad that all the further bank was lost 
In mystery, save where a temple tossed 
The broken moonbeams from its polished walls. 
And all was still as death's enmuffled halls 
Skull-mounted. Here and there stars made a glade 
Within the Nile. Sometime Antinoiis stayed 
In musing lost and thought. His charger neighed 
For fear ; Antinoiis loosed him, and he sped 
Back homeward. There, as lonely as the dead, 
Antinoiis stood, the fairest born of men 
Beside earth's fairest river. Then again 
He murmured slowly, sadly, " Hadrian ! " 
And all the world made answer, " Hadrian ! " 
For to Antinoiis all the world's hope clung. 
Now gently went he, silently, among 
The river sedges, till advancing where 
The lazy river lapped its boundaries, there 
He paused a moment. On he went, the while 
The stream grew deeper. Then the mighty Nile, 
** 53 



ANTINOUS 

The great of rivers, rose to welcome him. 
The long waves wrapped around each cleaving limb 
And drew him onward. Then the gods were glad, 
And all was over. 

Only one was sad 
In all the world : the Emperor. When he read 
His friend's farewell, and knew that he was dead, 
He longed for death, and lived. But still he made 
In every court, in every temple shade, 
An image of the fairest born of men ; 
And it is told that on his deathbed, when 
His courtiers asked what man should hold the throne. 
He answered nothing, murmuring alone 
" Antinoiis." And surely of the twain 
Antinoiis was the happier, — his the gain 
Of love in death, while unto Hadrian 
The death in love. And in this later earth. 
With all its pain and pleasure, grief and mirth. 
There scarce is one who hath not in some place 
The image of Antinoiis. The fair face 
And sweet lips, telling us 'twixt sigh and smile 
The memory and mystery of the Nile — 
That tell us without need of speech or breath 
The joy of life, the wondrous peace of death. 
54 



A BALLADE OF DAWN 



" Placida notte, e verecondo raggio 
Delia cadente luna." 



^(^^S^HE wan east quivers, and a chilling breeze 

fi< Comes trembling o'er the earth; the silence lies 
'"I Oppressively on all things, and the trees 
Don ever-changing shapes while night-time dies; 
From off the river feathery mists arise 
And clothe the shivering earth with garments rare. 
Changed things that seem like uncouth monsters glare 
Where late the moonlight cast a charmed glow. 
The stars grow faint and fade into the air, 
And in the west the weary moon hangs low. 

To-night has been a night of nights; great seas 
Of tremulous moonlight, pouring from the skies 
Enchanted all the earth and made surcease 
Of restlessness, and stilled each vague surmise. 
Its beauty charmed away earth's laboring sighs, 
55 



A BALLADE OF DAWN 

And brought nepenthe for its sharp despair. 
Strange shadows hurried o'er the meadows where 
The wavering mist now billows to and fro. 
Alas ! the night is gone that was so fair, 
And in the west the weary moon hangs low. 

And with the night hath fled the golden ease 
That filled my heart beneath the myriad eyes 
Of midnight. Day is near, and beauty flees 
Beneath her naked squalor. Now the cries 
Of birds are heard, who know that in some wise 
Another day must yield the wonted share 
Of hard-earned food. And all the beasts prepare 
To fight for niggard gifts their lives bestow. 
Day's murmurs stir them in their nightly lair. 
And in the west the weary moon hangs low. 

Yet this is but a symbol ; everywhere 

Could man find peace if his weak heart would dare 

To search ; the very dawn is joyful, though 

Its breath seems chilled with day and toil, and care. 

And in the west the weary moon hangs low. 



56 




REFUGE 

5AIN would I journey from these barren lands 
Where I was born, unto the magic isles 
Of tropic seas, where Winter kindher smiles 
Than doth the Summer of our northern strands. 
And I would wander on the golden sands 
Of tropic rivers reaching miles and miles 
Thro' orchid-bowers where the sun beguiles 
Our hearts with scattered gifts from lavish hands. 

Then Homer to the Old World carries me 
In hollow ships across the crested main ; 
And Chaucer shows each April-haunted lane 
Of England. Spenser gives enchanted sea, 
His summer woods and purple pageantry, 
While Dante guides me through the world of pain. 



57 




STRIFE 

MAN may gather wisdom, growing old, 
"•/M^c And pleasure, as he sees each well-wrought task 
Approach completion ; yet his heart may ask 
Were youth not cheaply bought with learning's gold? 

And thou, oh world, may weep that having sold 
Thy birthright, thou didst leave the peaceful fields 
Of youth to struggle through the path that yields 
A finite joy with labour manifold. 

But we, the children of these later years, 
The years whose very faith is doubt-embued, 
Rejoice that, plunging in the path of spears, 
Thou left the land where peace doth ever brood. 
Our hearts, inured to wringing hopes from fears 
Had sickened in that endless quietude. 



58 




SHADOW'S HOUSE 

)T is a castle builded as of old 

Men built, with triple rampart girded round, 
And stored with vaults that reaching 
underground, 
Keep what the Past hath left of sinful gold. 
Armed sentries guard the entrance to the hold, 
To bar men out ; and till a man hath found 
The countersign, and murmured o'er the sound, 
He may not see the iron doors unfold. 

Yet one way is there to defy the bar ; . . . 

For oft a sleeping soul is borne therein 

And sees and mourns the shadow of her sin, \ 

And mourns the shadowy pleasure, flown afar. 

Returning then, while fear and darkness are, 

She shuddereth, knowing scarce where she hath been. 



59 



SPRING-SONG 

C^^f^WEET, since the Spring hath come with 

Qix}^l!~5 lengthening days, 

cCi>'i^_li; And all the world 

Is bright with many-flowered perfumed ways, 

And every bird is ofifering Love his praise 

With wing unfurled — 
Shall we keep silence in the golden hours ? 
Shall we not bend us to Love's sovereign powers? 
Shall we not love while all the young-eyed flowers 

With dew are pearled ? 

And sweet, since May's round moon is full and bright 

As when, in Thrace, 
The virgins met in each month's midmost night, 
And prayed with mystic charms of occult might 

For Dian's grace — 
Shall we, when all the night with love is ringing, 
When all the woods are sweet with dewdrops clinging. 
Shall we, with all the great world's heart a-singing. 

Not seek Love's face ? 



60 




'tv ' v» 



SCENT O' PINES 

^(ilOVE, shall I liken thee unto the rose 
That is so sweet ? 
Nay, since for a single day she grows, 
Then scattered lies upon the garden-rows 
Beneath our feet. 

But to the perfume shed when forests nod. 

When noonday shines, 
That lulls us as we tread the wood-land sod, 

Eternal as the eternal peace of God — 

The scent o' pines. 



6i 



PHAETON 

G^V!^y3N ancient days, ere man had quite outgrown 
r^ ^^ His young-eyed wonder at the lovely earth, 
^L.^^iSb The ocean swelling with exultant moan 
At her vast travail, all the four winds' mirth, 
The sky that bendeth over perfumed airs 
In hovering wise, the rivers that engirth 
Immortal islands, all the world which wears 
Such beauty manifold — in those old days 
One god might not suffice for all men's prayers ; 
But temples rose in many a sacred place 
To many gods. And chiefly where the sky 
Contemplates Egypt with unchanging gaze 
All mortals lived and worshipped reverently. 
And in far ^Ethiopia, where man's care 
Bore lightly on him, anthems soared on high 
To various gods and heroes. lo there 

Brought Epiphas, the son of Zeus, and dwelt 
In temples, midst the incense-laden air. 
62 



PHAETON 

But none the less in other temples knelt 
The people ; for in that land Clymene, 
The great queen, ruled, for whom Apollo felt 

Such love that in one flowery April she 

Brought forth to Phoebus Phaeton ; and all 
The earth rejoiced to see his progeny. 

But Epiphas, the son of Zeus, was thrall 
To envy, and it stung his soul to hear 
Men honour Phaeton in every hall 

As son to Phoebus. So with many a sneer 

He vexed the sun-god's child ; declared that he 
Was basely born, and envious, would sear 

With ribald jest the heart of Clymene. 

Now Phaeton at length had reached the age 
When boyhood yields to manhood ; lustily 

He yoked his steeds, had been where battles rage 
And borne him manhke. In his face there shone 
His mother's beauty and his father's sage. 

Immortal glory. But one thing alone 
Declared him mortal; an abyss of grief 
Enimaged in his eyes ; a silent moan 

That slumbered in their depths, with no relief 
Of tears ; his inmost heart being filled with doubt 
Instilled by Epiphas. His mother chief 
63 



PHAETON 

He doubted ; next the glad triumphant shout 
Wherewith men hailed him as Apollo's son. 
So one day when the sacrificing rout 

Was on some pilgrimage, when Spring had run 
Her dainty course, and Summer in her place 
Was ruler of the hours, went Phaeton 

To Clymene, and begged with glowing face 
And eager heart, that she would let him go 
Unto his father to beseech some grace, 

Some sign from Phoebus, that the world might know 
The truth. Then Clymene with falling tears 
Besought him tenderly, but he would show 

Scant mercy, so she yielded ; and his years 
Were nearly those of manhood. Forthwith he 
Departed, half with hopes and half with fears 

Upon his distant journey. By the sea 

He travelled first, nor was his heart too filled 
To marvel at its beauty ; at the glee 

Wherewith it raced upon the sand, now stilled, 
Now troubled with some deep abysmal pain. 
Anon it laughed innumerably, as willed 

Its lord, Poseidon. Slowly did he gain 
The Egyptian land, the land of hoary eld. 
So old, that all the stars might strive in vain 
64 



PHAETON 

To count the years that in her hands she held. 
There many marvels saw he as he prayed 
To mystic Isis. Then in ships impelled 

By oars and sails, he traversed, unafraid, 
The roseate sea to Araby the blest. 
And journeyed on through sunlight and through shade 

Unceasingly. Fail* cities wooed to rest 
His wearied limbs, and spice-perfumed airs 
Allured him ; but with ever-quickening zest 

He onward went. Not Babylon the fair, 
Nor famed Damascus, Nineveh the great, 
Persuaded him to pause. The fiery glare 

Of deserts, nor the humid, awful state 
Of mountain forests, where the day's bright eye 
Scarce enters, stayed him. Tigers lay in wait, 

Then fled at his approach. The burning sky 
Of Burmah saw he, and he onward went 
Through India, where old cities hidden lie 

In sacred groves. Still on his steps were bent 
Across th' unending plains of strange Cathay, 
Sheer on into the utmost Orient. 

There stood the glowing portals whence the day 
Thrilled all the world. The palace from the sea 
Towered upward ; he could see the billows play 
5 65 



PHAETON 

Around its base in rhythmical rough glee ; 
And all the house with golden lustre burned, 
A palace meet for gods. The mystery 

Of this still house, whose gold reflection turned 
The creeping sea to gold, filled Phaeton 
With curious wonder; all his being yearned 

To enter, and behold th' enthroned Sun 

In his great hall. A staircase from the strand 
Leapt up in soaring arches, everyone 

Of storied gold strange-wrought by cunning hand. 
Unto a mighty portal. Up this stair 
Went Phaeton, albeit he scarce could stand 

Through trembling. Firmer grown, he entered there 
And gazed fulfilled with glory. 'T was a hall 
Sustained on marble columns, midst an air 

With perfume heavy ; golden was the wall, 
And gold the far-reflecting architrave. 
So smooth the fair translucent pillars all, 

It seemed a journey-wearied man might lave 

His limbs in their cool depths. And high on throne 
The god sat, bright with glory which he gave. 

In utmost majesty ; nor sat alone ; 

For round him were the Days and Weeks and Hours, 
Each girded with a golden, clinging zone, 
66 



PHAETON 

And lying lapt in heaps of golden flowers, 

With godlike youth that knows the bliss of youth 
Ere age comes near to sigh for youthful bowers 

And maidenhood. But Phaeton, in sooth, 
Saw nothing but his father sitting high 
In that high hall, convinced that he in truth 

Was son to Phoebus. Boldly drew he nigh 
His father, and with eyes that did not shrink. 
Gazed at his splendour. The god's gaze did lie 

Full tenderly upon his child, to think 
That youthful loveliness was his ; that he 
Had dowered the earth with beauty, which should link 

Its men with gods. His pulses thrilled to see 
His lineaments impressed on every curve 
Of Phaeton. He said, caressingly : 

" My son, what king so potent dost thou serve, 
That thou hast come upon so hard a way 
Unto my house ? It straineth every nerve. 

As I know well, returning every day 

With my yoked steeds. Hast thou a master, stern 
As him great Heracles once served ? " Then, " Nay," 

Said Phaeton with fervour, "but did yearn 
To gaze on thee, my father, to behold 
The source whence came my life. I wished to learn 
67 



PHAETON 

The truth of things whereof I had been told 
By Clymene, things doubtful unto men. 
And since the heart thou gavest me was bold, 

I came. Give proof of my high origin, 
I pray, that men give credence to my word 
And know me for thy son." Apollo, then. 

Whose heart had hungered fiercely as he heard. 
Made answer: " Phaeton, but name the sign, 
And take it." And his sacred answer stirred 

The listening heavens with a fear divine. 
By this time all the portals of the east 
Were open flung, and on the hall's confine 

Stood the Sun's chariot, while the light increased 
Within the hall. From far away there came 
The faint-heard chant of worshipper and priest. 

Adoring with high gaze the coming flame. 
Then Phaeton, beholding the yoked team. 
Thrilled with a plan to quench his brand of shame. 

"Oh, father," cried he, "clothe me with the beam 
Of thy great glory ! Let me for a day 
Urge on thy horses, and my body gleam 

With thy hot rays ! " But Phoebus: " Put away 
This thought, oh, my beloved. What other thing 
Thou wishest, take ; but ask not this, I pray. 
68 



PHAETON 

My steeds are fierce ; and even me, their king, 
Will hardly suffer ; me, though I am strong. 
How canst thou hope that they will homeward bring 

Thy youth in safety? And the way is long. 
At first it lies along the eastern steep 
Where footing is so hard that many a throng 

Of stars falls earthward ; then across the deep 
Empyreal ocean ; then unto the west 
A steep descent. And by the pathway sleep. 

Or wake, or forage, fierce with eager zest, 

Star monsters. In one place the ravening Bull, 
The Scorpion, and afar, with labouring breast, 

The Archer standeth, with his quiver full 
Of winged shafts. Yet if thou dost persist, 
I must permit it, having sworn. But pull 

With steady hand upon the reins ; resist 

The impulse to gaze earthward ; chiefly spare 
The whip ; but best of all, do not insist 

On this rash present. Take some other share 
Of my dominion, houses full of gold. 
And soft-hued slaves, fair women who shall bear 

A wondrous offspring to thee ; thou shalt hold 
Great kings as in the hollow of thy hand — 
Ask not my steeds ! " "Deem not my heart too bold," 
5* ^ 69 



PHAETON 

Then answered Phaeton, *' tho' I withstand 
Thy prayer, oh, father ! for this utmost boon 
Is asked by utmost grieving. Many a band 

Of wrestlers have I thrown ; besides, not soon 
Do I grow weary hunting ; many a steed 
Hath owned me master, nor doth highest noon 

Impair my strength. Thy counsel I shall need 
About the journey, then I fain would go." 
Apollo might not waver, though his seed 

Should perish, though his father-heart must know 
That ill would come, he yielded, having sworn. 
Last words of counsel gave he ; how the low 

Descents must not be trod, lest death be borne 
Unto the earth. And then, with gathered reins. 
The boy quick followed in the steps of morn. 

The coursers sniff the billowing ocean plains 
And snort defiance to the hated bit. 
Already Phaeton every sinew strains 

To keep them on the path, whose steep no whit 
Affrights them, since they breast it gallantly, 
Unpanting, spurning it. Their long manes knit 

Of fire, flame joyous o'er the wanton sea, 
And soon they come unto the soaring arc 
That spans the earth. There, waiting ravenously, 
70 



PHAETON 

The Bull herds clustering stars. The horses mark 
His fiery eyes, and with a sudden start 
Plunge wildly on their way, a glowing spark 

In every eye. No more can mortal art 

Suffice to check them, for they plunge and rear 
Unsuffering guidance, till the tense reins part 

In sunder, and the golden chariot sheer 
Upon the brink of heaven is hurried on. 
Yet Phaeton is unassailed by fear ; 

He gives no thought to fiery Phlegethon, 
But dilates with an exultation fierce 
At the mad rush, as swifter still upon 

The perilous way he goes. And now he peers 
Down to the earth ; a madness seems to seize 
His throbbing brain. With blows that bite like spears 

He lashes the mad team by quick degrees 
To greater madness. Like a whirlwind now 
They rush, unwitting where they go, the breeze 

All vain to cool their fever. On the brow 
Of heaven's arch they stand an instant, then 
Plunge madly down and down and down where bow 

The clouds. And Phaeton, all quivering when 
The horses paused, at that supernal leap 
Felt loosed from bonds of flesh. Beyond his ken 
71 



PHAETON 

His exultation soared, the mighty deep 

Of earth and heaven thrilhng with sympathy 
At his emotion. Hardly could he keep 

From springing out o' the car. To agony 
His rapture grew, rapture too great for one 
Of mortal birth. But now Zeus chanced to see 

The horses plunging earthward, and upon 

The earth all things grow blackened ; and he saw 
The infinite bliss that maddened Phaeton ; 

He saw the smouldering heaps of earth and straw 
That once were houses, and he heard the prayer 
Men moaned for aid. Compelled by final law 

He hurled a bolt that, thrilling the parched air, 
Struck Phaeton and bore him from the car. 
And Hermes, the fair hero, he that bears 

Wan spirits, calmed the steeds. But like a star 
That slips from Heaven, toward the blackened plain 
Fell Phaeton, and as he fell afar 

And knew that Death was present, and his pain, 
He murmured : " Gladly pay I my last breath 
For this great rapture ; life had been but vain, 

Henceforward, one long yearning after death." 



72 




MOON-RISE 

HEN Adam on his first terrestrial day 
Beheld the dark devouring shades of night 
i/ Descend and hide the garden from his sight, 
He prostrate fell, and trembling strove to pray. 
He pressed his forehead deep into the clay, 
He harkened to earth's travail with affright; 
He strove to still his breathing, lest it might 
Enrage the Thing that drove the light away. 

But when, as borne upon the night air's breath 
A light shone, and the East therewith was dyed 
To silver, Adam rose and saw the wide 
Moon hurrying on as one that hasteneth. 
Then was his heart released from fear of death, 
And all the waiting world was glorified. 



73 



PR^TERITA 

l^^i^^(51IKE some old manuscript whereof each page 
^ T^^ ^^ blazoned with its sombre king or knight 
Wv 's» S< Upon a golden ground whose aureole light 
Is dim with time — so seems the vanished age 
When sainted Louis held in vassalage 
The realm of France and her crusading might, 
Before Sire Joinville bade his scribe endite 
The deeds of Louis and his baronage. 

Between the iron rule of Charlemagne 
And the bedizened, reckless Renaissance 
It lies, this age when powers of Light were fain 
Against the powers of Darkness to advance ; 
A time as fair as Saturn's fabled reign — 
The golden age of mediaeval France. 



74 



ffi! 



A BALLADE OF RIDING 

3O, for a horse on a summer night ! 

When the moon is full, and the winds at play 
Laugh aloud in their free delight, 
And have no will to stop nor stay. 
And on rush we, away, away. 
Under the forest boughs, so fleet 

That we stir the leaves to dance and play, 
And the whole world echoes with galloping feet 

Thro' forest glades where the air is bright. 
And moonlit branches glisten and sway, 

And on thro' the midst of the forest's might 

Where moonlight and shadow join tremulous fray, 
Through darker aisles where never a ray 

Of moon or star can find retreat; 

And the darkness opens to give us way, 

And the whole world echoes with galloping feet. 
75 



A BALLADE OF RIDING 

Hurrying on in our headlong flight, 

We speed till we come in the night's decay 
To the river, whose ripples, left and right, 

Murmurous up to the edges stray. 

Along the banks our course we lay. 
And eastward speed the dawn to greet. 

While the moon looks down so sad and gray, 
And the whole world echoes with galloping feet. 

Friend, is there any joy which may 
Compare with this, when the pulses beat. 
When life is young, and the heart is gay. 
And the whole world echoes with galloping feet ? 



76 




REQUIEM 

^OW she is dead, 

What shall be said of her 

By any man whose hand hath stroked her head, 
Who was her worshipper? 
Her tale is said ; 

The glory of her palpitant life hath sped. 
Come, lay her in the tomb 
Where nought shall stir 
Within the mantling of the reverent gloom. 

She had no soul — 

Nay, you that knew her well, 

That made her timorous heart your utmost goal. 

Yea, even you must tell 

How the bells' toll 

Hath signified the closing of the scroll 

Whose rubric was her face. 

The funeral knell 

Hath rung the curtain on her radiant grace. 

n 



REQUIEM 

But where she lies 

Plant every flower that grows. 

Let violets set us dreaming of her eyes; 

And for her heart a rose 

With crimson dyes 

Shall paint for us a murmurous paradise. 

Let lilies flaunt and float 

Within the close 

In memory of the marvel of her throat. 

And for her hair 

Let tender fronds of fern 

Grow tremulous in the enamoured air 

Around her carven urn. 

She was so fair, 

We must not think what now is lying there 

Beneath the sod, 

Lest we should spurn 

What once we worshipped as the proof of God. 



78 




FIVE SONNETS 



5IRST seeing thee, in heart a rebel, I 

Half-knew that thou wouldst rule my life for me, 
Yet impotently fought the tyranny 
As earth resists the dominating sky. 
I did not dare with mine to meet thine eye 
For fear of being utter thrall to thee. 
And half I hated — my hostility 
Was but a mask for love, was but a lie. 

Ah fool ! I did not know how sweet it is 
To own a master ; to give up the fight, 
And yield me to the overmastering bliss 
Of being loved and loving. How my sight, 
By struggle cleared, hath sounded Love's abyss, 
And rapturous I yield me to his might. 



79 



FIVE SONNETS 



II. 

It came upon me like a flash of sun 
A-piercing through the cloudy raiment spread 
Beneath the sky: "Why, this is love !" I said, 
"And this is she, the Love-appointed one." 
I know that long before had love begun 
To turn my heart to her ere I had read 
Its timorous path ; and so the sun had sped 
Behind the threatening veil the clouds had spun. 

Oh, who can tell the rapture of the thought 
That some one sitteth, murmuring my name 
Even as I murmur hers? So love hath brought 
Our souls into the compass of one frame ; 
We are twin spirits in one body caught. 
Two sister sparks of God's eternal flame. 



80 



FIVE SONNETS 



III. 

Together, side by side, we watched the dawn 
Creep slowly from the shrouded lap of night. 
The westering moon was shorn of half its light 
By day's advance, and all the stars grew wan. 
Within, the revelling dancers had not gone; 
We heard their far-off laughter of delight ; 
The music came with faint, pulsating might, 
And fell with dying cadence on the lawn. 

Beloved, I felt our twin-born spirits soar 

Beyond the barriers of this earthly frame. 

And mingling each with each, pass through the door 

Archangels guard, their swords alive with flame, 

Unto our Lady's feet ; and evermore 

I love the Virgin since she bears thy name. 



FIVE SONNETS 



IV. 

Her name makes glad my lips when I awake 

And laugh a welcome to the jocund day, 

The while, about me, memories of her play — 

Of things she did once, or of words she spake. 

And if inevitable care o'ertake 

My path — what life eternally is gay ? — 

I think of her, and hasten care away, 

And life is full of flowers for her sweet sake — 

And when at night I turn me to my rest, 
I think upon her love, and smile at fate. 
I marvel my affection should be blest 
With such a vast return ; thus, soon or late. 
Whether my fortunes be at worst or best. 
My livelong day to her is consecrate. 



FIVE SONNETS 



Now she whom I swore true eternally 
Has failed in loving, and I know not why. 
I shall not ask the reason — she and I 
Have been too near for questioning from me. 
I '11 not reproach her ; her love should be free 
However mine be bound; nor shall I cry 
Because she loveth me no more, nor try 
To hide from her my utter misery. 

Suffice it she hath loved, and I love still — 
More rapture than my merit had deserved ; 
No gift had I to please her, but the will. 
I did but duty had I never swerved 
From striving her sweet wishes to fulfil. 
I am rewarded in that I have served. 



83 



NURSE'S SONG 

^^^HE serpent said; 

' A maid hath come to slumber in the grass ; 
I will steal toward her softly, round her pass, 
And sting her dead. 
I am enamoured of her lovely head, 
And fain would make for me a nest therein, 
Where I may lie and brood on my great sin." 

The serpent said : 

" I shall make windows of her azure eyes, 

Where through my sight may reach unto the skies, 

When she is dead. 

I will be guardian of her golden head ; 

No worm shall gnaw the texture of her skin 

For fear of me and horror of my sin." 



84 




COMPLETION 

LOVED your body for its gracious might, 
Its suppleness, and for the vast repose 
That were to me as perfume, music, light, 

Complete in all things as a perfect rose. 

I loved your heart, since it was utter truth, 

And felt no need to mask itself, or lie ; 

I loved it for its openness of youth, 

Which never stooped to flatter or decry. 

I loved your mind for its audacity. 

Not caring what the world might choose to think ; 

Determined its own monitor to be. 

Disdaining from frequented wells to drink. 

And all these three, which made one rounded whole, 

I loved together, for I loved your soul. 



85 



p> 




RETIREMENT 

)N dusky Nubia Rameses the great 
Exhumed a temple from the living stone. 
He wrought it for the joys of Gods alone, 
Where they could dwell serene and brood on fate. 
Afar from mortal glory, paltry state, 
Eternally removed from hymn or moan, 
Horemku, Amen, Ptah, with crown and throne, 
The end of all things tranquilly await. 

I too would carve, with what I have of art. 
Inviolable, a sacred citadel 
Within the utmost province of my heart. 
Where, safe as spouse of God in convent cell, 
My buried love, forevermore apart. 
Serene unto eternity may dwell. 



86 




SONG 

5iHERE met we last ? What recollections rise 
Within our hearts from out a shameful past ; 
My soul springs up as many tongues, and cries; 
"Where met we last ? " 

The self-same sun is hurrying westward fast; 
The same old landscape round about us lies ; 
The self-same trees are bending in the blast. 

But we who once gazed in each other's eyes 
Unceasing, pass on now with eyes downcast. 
We shudder as at faintly heard replies : 
Where met we last ! 



87 



CONFESSIONS 

2:^1!PH, crimson rose, I 've searched the garden through, 
Alkired by sweetest scents and colours rare; 
rr^^ No other blossom shall my rapture share, 
My heart shall breathe its secret but to you. 
Oh, crimson rose, I know you will be true, 
As true as she whose plighted love I bear . . . 
With whispering plighted, while her glorious hair 
Bent to my kisses, and my worship grew. 

Oh, crimson rose, your glowing heart is deep, 
But hers is deeper, and it hath confessed 
Such secrets that the blessed angels weep 
With holy envy. See, your lot is blessed ; 
I send you from the garden stilled in sleep, 
To die with rapture on my Lady's breast. 



88 




HER PICTURE 

HAT of her picture ? Nay it is not she, 
Tho' all that lieth in it is so fair : 
:L/ The silken eyelid and the heapy hair. 
The haunting profile with its mystery — 
The woman's heart for honest eyes to see, 
The smile that drives a lover to despair, 
Tho' these which seem her very self are there 
That self from such imprisonment is free. 

And yet I love her picture, lacking her, 
And having her I still should cherish it. 
I love each feature, though it doth not stir 
I love the smiles that o'er her features flit. 
Seeing her portrait, I 'm her worshipper. 
And seeing her I love her counterfeit. 



7* 



SAINT LOUIS 

"Pensa oramai qual fu colui, che degno 
Collega fu a mantener la barca 
Di Pietro in alto mar per dritto segno ! " 

Paradiso, XI, ii8. 

."i^aAfFTLTHOUGH this world be evil as they say 

r,^mW;? Who struggle fiercely for the needful bread 

i^^V^^3 To link their bitter life from day to day ; 

Tho' it may be that pleasure soon is sped, 
That joy is shadowed by a hovering pain, 
And peace comes only when a man is dead ; 

Yet now and then there swelleth such a strain 
Of life harmonious on this earth of ours 
It proves that virtue is no more in vain 

Than is the beauty of the April flowers 

When Spring returns with rapture unto men 
And lends beatitude to all his hours. 

And one such life the whole world witnessed when 
St. Louis governed France with so much right 
That eyes may hardly see its like again. 
90 



SAINT LOUIS 

For three ideals kept he in his sight 

Which may by many knights have been defiled, 

Yet must have guided every perfect knight. 
The first : all duty to the God who smiled 

In yielding up his best beloved for us 

To come among us as a little child. 
The second : love and worship chivalrous 

For every woman, be she high or low, 

For sake of Mary mother piteous 
Whose offspring bore the burden of our woe. 

The third : obedience to the slightest call 

Of knightly duty that his strength might owe 
Unto his vassals both in cot and hall. 

Nor did he deem the last ideal the least r 

For ever strove he to be just to all 
And render others just. No knight nor priest 

Oppressed the peasant, lest the king should hear. 

And oftentimes he gave his royal feast 
Unto a beggar, and his royal gear, 

And took himself the beggar's crust of bread 

However hard ; nor dared a courtier sneer 
At seeing him dressed out in rags instead 

Of royal raiment such as monarchs wear. 

And any one whose heart with wrong had bled 
91 



SAINT LOUIS 

Was free to tell it, knowing he would care 
For all his people. Nay, he used to sit 
In summer in his orcliard-close, and there 

Surrounded by his knights and men of wit 
Would listen to complaints from every one, 
And having weighed the wrong, would answer it. 

And for the lofty saw he justice done 
As well as for the lowly, so that he 
Was held the justest man beneath the sun. 

And neighbouring monarchs in their rivalry, 
However jealous, would submit their claim 
To him, confiding in his equity. 

For ever did he deem it utter shame 
For man to use a woman scornfully, 
And utter ruin to a warrior's fame. 

When he was young with holy reverence he 
Demeaned himself to her that gave him birth, 
Tho' oftentimes right tyrannous was she. 

And as the finest knight in all the earth 
He ever bore him toward the southern wife 
His mother brought him from the land of mirth, 

Provence. At no time in the thick of strife, 
Tho' 'gainst his foes he bore him like a man. 
Forgot he courtesy in all his life. 
92 



SAINT LOUIS 

And when in the crusade he led the van, 
He acted rather as his people's sire, 
And spared their strength as much as leader can. 

And for the first ideal of his desire — 
His service to his Master — as a lad 
He taught his spirit upward to aspire. 

A keen dehght in godly things he had, 
He loved his matins and his vespers well, 
He made the hearts of Christian shepherds glad. 

And more ; a faith-sustaining miracle, 
Within the dingy walls of Paris-town 
He reared for Mary's love the Sainte Chapelle. 

Yet never suffered to be trodden down 

For all his meekness ; rather held his own 
With sturdy arm, and girt up knightly gown 

'Gainst threateners of his conscience or his throne, 
Whether the crosier or the lance they bore. 
And even the Holy Father had to own 

The king was right, and never ventured more 
Against the Gallic freedom to advance 
While Louis IX. the royal mantle wore. 

Yet more he wrought for God; uplifted lance 
Undaunted did he bear in two crusades, 
Tho' all his heart was pining for his France. 
93 



SAINT LOUIS 

He toiled through perils, sudden ambuscades, 
Long sieges, fevers, battles, fights at sea, 
Nor 'scaped the skill of Saracenic blades. 

And though his prowess oft snatched victory 
From hopelessness, the times were not in tune 
For Palestine in Christian hands to be. 

So Louis was denied the utmost boon 

A knight could ask : to free the Sepulchre — 
Yet suffered in the trying, for, one noon. 

In Egypt, when the air could scarcely stir 
For sullen heat, while yet the battle roared 
More fiercely than the fabled thunderer. 

The king, with shattered strength and broken sword, 
Divided from his knights in the affray, 
Was captured by the Babylonian lord. 

And captive held until his land should pay 
A royal ransom for her knight and king. 
All Christendom was drowned in tears that day. 

His death came from his second journeying 
As holy warrior ; for a second time 
Against the Pagans warred this sainted king. 

But this time he was somewhat past his prime. 
Was spent with all his years of knightly war, 
And weary with combatting earthly crime. 
94 



SAINT LOUIS 

So, scarcely had he touched the northern shore 
Of Africa, the land of hoary sin, 
Which once th' adulterous Carthaginians bore 

(His purpose was 'gainst Tunis to begin 
The holy strife), when he was forced to lie 
Upon his couch, his royal tent within. 

Beneath the fervent Carthaginian sky 

Which cloudless gazes on the fevered earth, 
And changes not tho' kings and nations die. 

He lay as helpless as a babe at birth. 
And felt the fever stealthily advance 
While all man's leach-craft was of little worth. 

Just as he died, as tho' within a trance, 

The king forgot that cursed land and brown, 
And dying, thought him in his cherished France, 

Within his well-beloved Paris-town. 

And so he died, nor left his like behind, 

And changed his mortal for a martyr's crown ; 

By God made priest and king of all mankind. 



95 



THIS IS THE END OF 

THE QUEST OF HERACLES 

WRITTEN BY HUGH McCULLOCH, Jr. 

AND PRINTED FOR 

STONE & KIMBALL 

CAMBRIDGE AND CHICAGO 

AT THE DE VINNE PRESS 




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HECKMAN 

JINDERY INC. 

. DEC 88 

»vvi=l^ N. MANCHESTER, 
*^fe^ INDIANA 46962 






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